Larabee's 7
by Philippa
Summary: Post Obsession: Chris delays his revenge to recover the Clarion's stolen deed. Will the seven be able to put aside their rough shootin' ways to pull off a smooth heist? Or will Chris's uncontrolled anger split up the team permanently?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** Just discovered TM7 and, naturally, became obsessed! This is my first fanfic tribute.

**Disclaimer** Not sure which media conglomerate currently owns the rights, but rest assured I'm obtaining no commercial advantage from this story.

**Larabee's 7**

Chapter 1

"I'm sorry, Mary, I'm so sorry" Mr. Potter said again. "But he had a gun to my head, and I just…" The banker blinked his eyes nervously behind his round glasses. The clerk had unlocked the door that morning to find him tied and gagged in front of the vault.

"It's all right, Leroy," Mary said for the third time. "And you're sure he only took my deed?"

"Everything else is there—all the money—everything."

The deed to the _Clarion_ office had passed to Mary after her husband's death, making her sole owner of the newspaper. But it wasn't an especially valuable piece of property, and she didn't know why anyone would rob a bank to lay hands on it. The deed's only other value was sentimental—she still remembered the day her husband had brought it home, how proud he had been. She'd had to persuade him that framing it to hang on the wall wasn't a safe idea, so instead, he'd had a special black leather case made to keep it pristine.

Mary forced a smile. "Don't worry, Leroy. Chris will sort this out when he gets back." _If he comes back._ Nearly two weeks ago, Chris Larabee had raced out of town to track the ghost of a rumor about the woman who had killed his family. He'd barely been back long enough to let his gunshot wound heal. _Probably put himself back in a sickbed_, Mary thought grumpily, and then told herself firmly, _Not that his health is any of your concern. _But she had long ago passed the point of being able to lie to herself about the way she felt toward Chris Laraby.

Leaving the bank, she crossed the street and walked back toward the _Clarion_, trying to focus on the day's work. She needed to track down the new school board president and ask how the search for a teacher was going, and then she had type to set, and after that she had promised to take Billy for a ride, and she only hoped he would stop pestering her about when Chris was coming back…

A strange man waited for her in front of the office door. He was well groomed, his business suit obviously tailored and made from quality materials. He lifted his hat as she approached. "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Mary Travis?"

She met his gaze frankly. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"My name is Daniel Searles. I'm a lawyer in Albuquerque." He handed her a business card printed on thick, creamy pasteboard.

She appreciatively rubbed her thumb across its glossy surface and asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Searles?"

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Travis, it's what I'm doing for you. It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that you are being sued for operating a commercial enterprise on property not lawfully yours."

"That's ridiculous. Of course I own this property."

"If so, then all you have to do is present proof of ownership when I return in two weeks."

"I certainly…" Her deed had been stolen. Mary flushed with anger. "Who are you working for Mr. Searles? The ranchers, the governor?"

"I represent the rightful owner, who is owed considerable pecuniary damages, which I very much fear you will be unable to pay. Your equipment will be forfeit."

"Effectively shutting down the _Clarion_. Yes, I understand, Mr. Searles."

Searles put his hat back on his head. "I thought you would."

"And you can tell whoever sent you that they won't get away with this. I will prove this property belongs to me, and I will not back down from my position on statehood or any other issue."

Searles smiled pleasantly. "I'll be certain to relay your message."

Mary watched him go, her hands clenched into fists. She would fight this with every penny, every friend, every ounce of influence she had._ And if it's not enough?_ a tiny voice in her head whispered._ It has to be._ She couldn't afford to doubt herself. And then she looked up and saw Vin and Nathan riding down the street. Behind them, she saw Josiah turning off at the church, Ezra and Buck and J.D. tying up in front of the saloon. Her eyes searched for the seventh rider, but didn't find him. And there was an air about the two coming toward her that she'd never seen before – something grim, weary, defeated.

Fear seized her heart, and she all but ran down the street to where Vin stood in front of his wagon, unloading his saddle bags.

"Vin, what happened? Where's Chris?"

He answered without looking at her, "Chris is up at his place, gettin' some things together."

"What happened?" she asked again.

Vin began repacking the bags, his movements efficient. "We didn't find Ella Gaines up north. Now we're trying east."

"You're riding out again already? Do you have a new lead?"

"Nope," Vin said.

"How long will you be gone this time?"

"Don't know. She could be anywhere. Reckon you'll have to make our apologies to the judge. It doesn't look like we'll be spendin' enough time here to earn our pay."

This was worse than anything she'd imagined. "So you're all leaving, just like that?"

Vin looked at her at last, his eyes serious. "I can't speak for the rest of them, but I ain't lettin' Chris ride this out alone."

Mary picked up her skirts and ran. Five minutes later, she was on her horse, headed out of town at a gallop.

Relief filled her when she pulled up at Chris's cabin and saw his horse standing out front. She wasn't too late. Carelessly wrapping her reins around the hitching post, she stepped through the open door.

Chris swung to meet her, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his Colt in the other. His face didn't soften, even after he recognized her and eased down the hammer of his gun.

"Don't do this, Chris," Mary said, stepping forward. She wondered how drunk he actually was.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said coldly.

"And you don't even know where she is. You could chase after her for years and never catch up."

"Doesn't matter," said Chris. "That crazy bitch killed my family, and I'll run her to ground if it takes the rest of my life."

"And what about your friends' lives? You going to risk them on this wild goose chase, too?"

Chris slammed his bottle down on the table. "I ain't askin' them to come."

"No. But they'll ride with you because they're your friends." Mary took a deep breath. "Because they love you."

She wondered at her own daring, but Chris stayed quiet, staring into the cold fireplace, so she took heart and plunged on. "And I'm your friend too, so let me help you. The judge and I have contacts in every town in this territory. Let me find her, and you'll have your justice. Don't destroy yourself in the process."

He was still quiet, still listening, so she ventured, "And besides, I … I need you. Your help," she hastily amended.

He looked at her, eyes bloodshot in his unshaven face. "What's wrong?"

"My deed was stolen." Briefly, she told him about Searles' visit and her suspicion that the governor was behind it.

When she finished, he stared at the half empty whiskey bottle for a long moment before he said, "All right, Mary. You've been a friend to me, and I'll get that deed back for you and your boy. But after that I reckon I'll be ridin' on."

"Thank you, Chris." It wasn't what she'd hoped for, but it was something.

* * *

><p>Ezra looked at his cards and tried to reason through the agony. He could win—he was almost sure of it—and he could take the not inconsiderable pile of money in the middle of the table. But men who won large sums were much more likely to be recalled by their fellow players, and for once, Ezra did not want to be remembered.<p>

Playing for time, Ezra looked at the youngest an drunkest of the card players. "You're actually tellin' me the safest place to put my money in this town is in a casino? Because that definitely has not been my past experience."

The little joke earned a few chuckles, and spurred the tipsy fellow to insist, "It's true. All the banks in town have been robbed. But not Casa Carboni. Mr. Carboni has armed guards everywhere and the best safe this side of the Mississippi. And there's a special guard on duty all the time outside the door to Mr. Carboni's office. He's seven feet tall and his name is Goliath."

"Goliath?" Ezra repeated, laughing.

"Boy, you're an idiot," one of the older players said to the one with the loose lips.

Ezra blew a slight breath of relief. "You mean there's not really a giant guarding the office?"

"Nope, that's true. But it ain't the reason Carboni's never been robbed."

"Sounds like a pretty good reason to me," Ezra countered.

The old man shook his head. "The real reason is that it's better to be dead than to make Carboni angry. If you steal from him, he will hunt you to the ends of the earth, and when he finds you, you won't die quick."

"But he's just one man," Ezra said hopefully.

"No he ain't. The Carboni family has businesses in San Francisco, St. Louis, Chicago, even New York City. You make an enemy of one of them, you're fightin' the whole durn clan."

Ezra laid his cards face down. "Gentlemen, I fold." He got up from the table before he had to watch some bastard, who didn't know just how lucky he was, rake in the pot.

* * *

><p>Buck reached over and took the whiskey bottle out of Chris's hand. "You're irritatin' Ezra."<p>

"He's talking," said Chris. "He's always talking." He reached for the bottle, but Buck passed it off to Josiah, who tucked it under one massive arm.

Ezra slammed both hands on the table. "I am tryin' to tell you that after we rob that casino—if we even can—"

"Of course we can," J.D. interrupted, disgusted.

Ezra quelled him with a glare. "What I am saying is that even if we do, Carboni and his entire family will hunt us. It's a matter of pride with them. They will not give up until they have tracked and killed each one of us. I ask you, gentlemen, does any one of you want that living hell at your back?"

Chris frowned. "So we're just supposed to give up and go home? I told Mary I'd get her deed back, and that's what I intend to do, no matter what the rest of you decide." Chris shoved back from the table and went to look out the window at the dusty street.

"Mary's our friend, too," Vin said quietly. "Ain't nobody walkin' out."

"Yeah," said J.D. "No way it's as impossible as Ezra says."

Ezra shook his head. "I didn't say it was impossible. But if we go in with guns blazin', as is our specialty, we will all be killed, one way or another. Chances are good Searles will have warned Carboni seven unfriendly men are headed his way. If we're going to play this, we have to play it smart."

Silence filled the room, and six pairs of eyes bored into Chris Larabee's back. He turned from the window at last, and nodded. "All right, Ezra. We'll try it your way. What are you thinkin'?"

Ezra smiled. "I'm thinkin' that if Mr. Carboni's expectin' seven men, then that's what we'll give him. We never disappoint."

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I love reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** I think I've finally got my canon issues sorted out. Main characters' names are now spelled correctly. Also, for those of you who read chapter one when I first posted it, I've altered it to be more in line with the events of "Obsession." The changes were minor, mostly timeline juggling, so no rereading is necessary.

**Disclaimer** Don't tell MGM, but Vin and I are eloping to Vegas.

**Larabee's 7**

Chapter 2

Tony Carboni was a distinguished looking man in his fifties—his jet black hair streaked with silver, and his lined face haughty. Outside of his own family, he respected few men and feared none. When his trusted lieutenant Marco brought word that two men were asking to see him, he smiled—a smile that had turned the blood of many men to ice because they knew it was the last thing they would ever see.

"Show them in. I have been expecting this visit."

Marco glanced around the luxurious office with the massive safe dominating one wall and frowned. "Are you sure that is wise? By all accounts, these are unusually dangerous men."

"Marco, Marco." Carboni shook his head reprovingly. "To invite an enemy into your stronghold is the surest way to show him you do not fear him. Once he has entered as a guest, he knows he will not survive if he returns uninvited."

"I did not mean to question you, Mr. Carboni. You know I have only your best interests at heart."

"I know, my boy." Carboni placed a hand on Marco's shoulder and looked earnestly into his face. "Learn the value of fear, and you learn the secret of men's hearts. Now, send in our guests, but first send my sons to me. They should learn the face of my new enemy."

When the two strangers were at last ushered into the office, Carboni was flanked by his sons Carlo and Luigi. With a deep sense of satisfaction, he admired their strong bodies and handsome faces. And they had proved their devotion to the family. He was proud of the ruthlessness they had exhibited in the service of loyalty. They would be worthy successors to his empire. _All my sons are worthy_.

Carboni took his time looking over his two guests. One man wore his tawny hair long, its color blending with that of his buckskin jacket. His stance was relaxed, his blue eyes steady. Carboni, noting the sawed-off carbine in its holster and the comfortable way the stranger cradled his rifle, judged him to be a dangerous man. But not a leader. He lacked the charisma—that indefinable power to turn men's hearts and command their loyalty.

Carboni dismissed him and focused his attention on the other man. This one wore a long black duster and hat to match. The coat covered his guns, but Carboni knew they would betray a history of hard use, just as his own ivory handled revolver recorded the story of his fight for dominance here in Albuquerque. And there was something in the man's quiet face—a submerged fire, and the power to inspire loyalty. Carboni prided himself on his ability to read men, and this one was everything he expected. Except … except for the faint smell of alcohol.

"Have a seat, Mr. Larabee."

The man in black dropped with careless grace into the chair Carboni offered.

The most powerful man in Albuquerque laid his well manicured hands on the desk before him. "What can I do for you?"

Larabee's eyes flicked involuntarily toward the safe. "I think you already know that."

Carboni smiled. "I do. You come to claim something that does not belong to you, something that is the rightful property of my professional acquaintance, Mr. Searles."

"He stole that deed."

Carboni waved a dismissive hand. "Legal technicalities are for the court to decide. When a man who has done me a favor in the past finds himself in need, I am happy to help. That is the nature of business."

Larabee stretched out his legs and slouched in the chair, his hat shadowing his face. "Sometimes you've got to choose between one business partner and another."

"Are you suggesting that we could be partners?"

"You said the exchange of favors was the nature of business. My business _is_ doing favors. Maybe there's something I could do for you. We could be friends."

From a man like Chris Larabee, it was a valuable offer. But Carboni didn't hesitate. Mercenaries could turn and strike the hand that paid them instead of carrying out their assigned job. Besides, a relationship with a territorial governor was worth more than one with a gunslinger, no matter how fast.

Carboni leaned forward. "Mr. Larabee, you are still young. Allow me to share the wisdom that has come to me after many hard years of struggle. In the life of a man, there are only three things of importance. First, the number of enemies he kills to clear his path, to prove his worth and his ability to lead. Second, the number of sons he fathers to carry on his legacy." He couldn't resist a proud look at his boys before continuing, "Third, the number of true friends who fall at his side, who prove their loyalty and must never be forgotten. Real friendship is not about favors, but about sacrifice. And you and I, Mr. Larabee, will never be friends."

"Pity you can't know who your true friends are until they're dead," Larabee drawled.

"Life is brutal. But you know that. I understand you have no son to carry on your legacy."

Larabee snapped out of his relaxed pose, his trembling hands betraying his rage. "Don't you ever mention my family again."

Carboni smiled. "I understand the boy fell while you were far away. Too bad he couldn't count his own father among his true friends."

Larabee lunged across the desk, scattering papers, tipping over the inkwell. But before he could wrap his hands around Carboni's neck, Carlo had him by the collar and had thrown him to the floor, while Luigi drew his gun to back up his brother. Marco kept a wary eye and a revolver trained on Larabee's companion, who slowly raised his hands to show he didn't want to fight the odds.

Carboni, who hadn't moved during the entire episode, laughed. "Get them out of here. This conversation is over."

* * *

><p>Buck leaned against one of the trees bordering the cemetery, his hat pulled low against the morning sun. If his information was right, Juanita Mendez, Carboni's mistress, would arrive any minute to lay flowers on the graves, as she did every Friday.<p>

He watched as a pretty yellow surrey pulled up by the entrance. A woman, her face swathed in a black veil, stepped down, her hands full of flowers. She was escorted by a tall young man who was expensively dressed and wore his six-shooters tied low. The woman entered the cemetery, her escort two steps behind, and stopped in front of one of the graves. She laid a small bouquet from her bunch at the foot of the cross, and remained kneeling as if in prayer.

Buck ambled in her direction, and when she rose to move on, he tipped his hat and said, "Good mornin', ma'am. If you don't mind my askin', why is a lovely flower like yourself wanderin' among the dead?"

"You are too bold, stranger," her escort said, starting forward, but Juanita stopped him with a raised hand. "Peace, Marco. This man means me no harm."

"No, ma'am, I ain't in the business of hurtin' ladies," Buck answered. Now that he was close enough to see through the veil, her beauty took his breath away. She must have been at least forty years old, but her skin remained clear and unlined; her eyes flashed with a proud knowledge of their own splendor.

Juanita smiled kindly. "In answer to your question, it is a mark of respect to lay a flower upon a grave, is it not?"

"Ma'am, I just hope that when I'm in that cold ground, such a flower will come to weep over me."

Juanita laughed. "What charming words! I did not expect them from a man who works for Chris Larabee."

Buck blinked at her. "Ma'am?"

"You do work for him? Tony told me I might receive a visit from you."

"Chris and I ride together," Buck admitted.

"And now you want to ask me about Tony Carboni, because you have heard that we are good friends."

Buck said boldly, "Intendin' no disrespect ma'am, but a woman such as yourself deserves to be more than a … close friend."

Marco gave an angry exclamation and stepped toward Buck, but Juanita again stopped him with a lifted hand. "I am not offended, Marco." She took Buck's arm. "Walk with me, señor. You wish to know why I remain with Tony when he cannot marry me? It is very simple. His wife has his name, but I have his love." She lifted her chin proudly. "Does he ask her to honor the friends who fell beside him as he fought for a place in this city? It is I who have that privilege. And see what good care he takes of me, sending his best man to escort me whenever I wish." She smiled at Marco over her shoulder.

"I think I understand, ma'am," Buck said, then respectfully removed his hat as she knelt next to another grave.

When she had finished, he helped her to her feet and Juanita said, "Tell me what you wish to know."

"Well, ma'am, it's like this. Tony Carboni's got somethin' we need real bad. And we'd like to have somethin' he wants just as bad to trade. Can you tell me of anything we could get that would be worth his while?"

Another silence as Juanita laid her third bouquet. Then she said, "I am sorry, but what you ask is impossible."

Buck sighed. "I understand, ma'am."

"No, I don't think you do." She gave him a pitying smile. "If you understood the kind of man Tony is, you would not have asked. There are seventeen notches carved on his gun. Seventeen enemies he has killed. Not ordered others to shoot, you understand, but killed himself. When something is important, Tony send no other man. He goes himself, or he sends one of his sons, whom he considers to be an extension of himself. Now do you understand?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Then, if you will excuse me, I have five more graves to visit, and the morning is nearly gone."

Buck tipped his hat and let her go.

* * *

><p>"This is not what I agreed to."<p>

The seven were gathered around a table in a run-down saloon on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Aside from their group and the rabbit-faced bartender asleep on his stool, the room was deserted, possibly because of the watered down whiskey and the bedbugs Ezra had been complaining about since they had taken rooms there. Now he was objecting again, and the hard expression on his handsome face made it clear he was serious.

"The plan was to find something that Carboni wants and trade him for the deed."

"Carboni turned us down and he ain't gonna reconsider. He don't need us," Vin said.

"Or, maybe he turned us down because Chris lost his temper," Ezra shot back.

Chris slammed his glass down on the table. "You got a problem with me, Ezra?"

"Yes, my problem is that you haven't been completely sober since we failed to find Ella's trail. My problem is that you're too drunk and angry to play this smart, and you're going to get us all killed." Ignoring the dangerous expression on Chris's face, he continued, "We had a plan, and that was to find something Carboni needs so bad that he'll give us the deed and let us walk away."

Trying to keep the peace, Vin interposed, "You heard what Buck told us about what Juanita Mendez said. We don't have time to keep on with a plan that won't work."

Ezra turned to him. "Mrs. Travis is a nice lady, but I am not goin' to be slaughtered for the sake of some two-bit newspaper. And if you all are goin' through with this suicidal scheme, then I'm done."

Chris stood up so fast his chair tipped over. "I warned you about walkin' out on me, Ezra."

Ezra held his empty hands out. "You want to shoot me, Chris? Then it'll have to be in the back, because that's all you're goin' to see." He spun on his heel and pushed through the swinging doors.

J.D. started forward, but Buck caught his arm. "Let him go, kid. Better he run now than in the middle of the fight."

Chris stared at the still quivering doors for a long moment, hand on his Colt. Then he shook his head and sat back down. "We grab Searles tonight and ride out of town to hide him in the desert. Then we explain how the vultures will pick out his eyes if he doesn't send word for Carboni to turn the deed over to us. Anybody else got objections to the plan?"

An uneasy silence fell over the group until J.D. said brightly. "It sure is more our style."

"Damn right, kid," Chris said, and poured himself a drink.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Vin asked.

Chris jerked around to face him, knocking the glass over. "You got a problem with me, too, Vin?"

Vin didn't flinch. "Just want to make sure you'll shoot straight tonight."

"Oh, I'll shoot straight," Chris promised.

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** Thanks so much for reading! I got three reviews for chapter one, and I'd love to get four reviews for chapter two ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** Not mine. (Author curls into fetal position and whimpers.)

**Larabee's 7**

Chapter 3

Daniel Searles and Tony Carboni sat in the lawyer's expensive second floor office. The room was dark, but in front of them a large window offered a wide view of Albuquerque, the town's lights glittering in the night.

"You have no way to drape the window," Carboni noted.

"I never want that window covered. I like looking out at the city and thinking that I own a little piece of it."

Carboni reflected, "Perhaps I should install such a window. Then I could look out at the city and think that I own a big piece of it."

The two men chuckled together, and then Carboni said, "But speaking seriously. It is not good to leave yourself so exposed. Somebody could shoot you through that window."

"Shoot the governor's own lawyer? They wouldn't dare." Searles propped his feet up with a grunt of self-satisfaction.

"Chris Larabee would dare."

"After tonight, Chris Larabee isn't going to be a problem. I'd like to put that scoundrel's head on a pike, as a warning to other presumptuous gunslingers."

Carboni said, "I should tell you that my men do not have orders to shoot to kill."

Searles sat up straight, his feet thumping on the floor. "Why the hell not?"

"Even in an ambush, it is difficult to make certain of so many men. And these are warriors, seasoned fighters who have escaped death many times. To kill seven of them at once would be very difficult."

"Six," Searles reminded him. "One backed out."

Carboni shrugged. "Even so, it is a hard thing to accomplish. And the ones who escape will be very angry. They will come back for revenge, it will be messy, and it will annoy me. I have no personal grievance against Larabee, so long as he leaves my town. I want only to convince him that doing this particular favor will be too costly."

"The governor would prefer them dead."

"Even a governor cannot always have what he wants." Carboni shifted to a more comfortable position and said, "Let me tell you something. I have seen men like Larabee before. He is on the verge of an explosion—for years he lives in the midst of violence, but always he is the one in control. Then, one day, something happens. Perhaps it is only a small thing, but it pushes him over the edge into madness. After that, it is only a matter of time."

"Time until what?" Searles asked, still surly.

"Until he _explodes_. Afterward, he will be dead, but whatever happens first will be deadly. I would rather have him explode in somebody else's town." Carboni was about to wax even more eloquent on his understanding of human nature, when Searles grabbed his arm.

"Do you hear that?"

Carboni held his breath.

And then the building beneath them exploded with gunfire. It lasted for two minutes, and then from outside came the sounds of men running down the streets and scattered shots as the intruders fled and Carboni's men pursued them.

"Well, that's that." Searles struck a match and lit a celebratory cigar. "They walked right into our trap."

"The bravest men can also be the most stupid," Carboni agreed.

* * *

><p>It was a shaken group of men that trickled back into the saloon on the outskirts of town. Vin and Nathan arrived together, easing inside the door and scanning the empty room cautiously.<p>

"They musta had twenty men waiting for us," Vin said at last.

"More like thirty. And they knew we were coming. Knew like they'd been told," Nathan said bitterly.

"The bartender's gone."

Vin and Nathan both swung around, guns drawn, to see Chris standing behind the bar.

"Don't surprise a man, Chris, I almost put a bullet in you," Vin complained, replacing his carbine in its holster.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Did you see any of the others?"

"Buck and J.D. split off from us at a crossroads. I don't know about Josiah," Vin offered.

"Like Daniel, Josiah, too, has been delivered from the lion's den," came a voice from the stairs. Josiah grinned when he found himself staring down three gun barrels. "Put 'em away boys, it's just me."

"Anybody else need a drink?" Chris asked, lining up shot glasses on the bar.

"Yeah, me," Nathan said. "My hands are still shakin'. We've done some crazy things, but that—"

"Nathan!" a voice bellowed outside, and then Buck burst through the doors, one arm around J.D.'s shoulders. "The kid's been shot!"

"It's just a scratch," J.D. protested, but he looked pale as he sank into a chair.

"It's not too bad," Nathan agreed, after he had examined the wound, "but you'll have to take it easy for a couple of days. Let me get the bullet out, and then …"

A shot in the street ended his sentence.

"Chris Larabee!" a man shouted. "I've got a message for you from Tony Carboni."

Chris slipped cautiously to the door and peeked over the top. Marco stood in front of the saloon, his revolver pointed at the sky, and several horsemen ranged behind him.

"I'm listening," Chris called.

"In his generosity, Mr. Carboni will give you one day to tend to your wounded. But if you and your associates are not gone by sunset, you're all dead men." Marco swung back onto his horse and the group galloped off.

Silence filled the saloon, except for J.D.'s grunts of pain as Nathan dug out the bullet. But at last the wound was sewn shut and bandaged. "Don' t strain that arm," Nathan warned.

"Can he ride?" Buck asked anxiously. "Because I don't think Carboni will bein' shot as an excuse for hangin' around."

"You plannin' on leavin', Buck?" Chris asked, and there was a soft, dangerous quality to his voice.

"Hell yeah, I am, and you should too. We're on their territory, we're outgunned, and even if we got Searles, it's no guarantee we'd get the deed. It's time for us to ride back home and figure out some other way to help Mary."

"Nobody is leaving."

Buck stood toe to toe with Chris and said, "We been friends a long time, and as your friend, I'm tellin' you, walk away from this one. You can't win."

"You walk out that door, I never wanna see your face again."

"All right," said Buck. "If that's the way you want it."

"Chris, don't do this," Vin said softly.

"You stay outta this, Vin." Chris's eyes didn't waver from Buck's. "You leavin'?"

"Yeah, I'm leavin'." Buck turned away. "Come on, kid."

J.D.'s face was painful in its bewilderment. "But—"

"J.D.! I am not leavin' you here to get shot to pieces. Now let's go!"

With a final look over his shoulder, his eyes those of a hurt puppy, J.D. followed Buck out of the saloon.

Chris glared at what was left of the seven. "Anybody else?" he shouted. "Because now's your time. You wanna walk, you better make it now."

Nathan slowly stood. "I reckon I better go with J.D. and make sure he doesn't bleed to death."

"You do that," Chris said, in a voice like frost.

Nathan's steps quickened, and a minute later, they heard his horse's hooves galloping down the street.

"To hell with them all," said Chris, and reached for the whiskey bottle.

With a roar, Josiah knocked it out of his hand, and it smashed to pieces on the floor.

"What the—" Chris began, but the big man wasn't standing still to be yelled at. He charged the bar, and bottles flew in every direction as the reek of alcohol filled the air.

Josiah didn't stop until every last drop of liquor was dripping through the floorboards. Then he said, "I ain't never been a fan of temperance, but in this case it seems to be called for. You're in a dark place, Chris. I only hope you can find your way back to the light."

Even after Josiah left, Chris stared after him with a frozen expression.

Vin broke the silence at last. "I'll take first watch. You get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."

Chris walked slowly to the stairs and mounted them with heavy feet. Vin put out the lights and paced the room, rifle cradled in his arms. After a while, he sat down on the floor with his back against the bar. When he turned his head, he could hear soft noises behind the wood. "Rats," he said out loud and slammed his rifle stock against the bar. The noises stopped, but he moved to a chair anyway. When the night was about half over, he went upstairs to wake Chris, then lay down himself to try and get a little sleep.

When Vin woke up, early sun was streaming through the filthy window glass. Vin lay on his back for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of the best thing to say to Chris. But when he got downstairs and found his friend with one unbroken, empty bottle in front of him, and just getting started on another, the right words became obvious. "I see Josiah missed a couple."

"You wanna drink?" Chris mumbled, his eyes bleary.

"Hell, Chris, what's happened to you?" Vin snatched the bottle away. "I'm going to wait for you just outside town. When you sober up and come to your senses, you can join me."

"I ain't goin'!" Chris slurred defiantly, but Vin didn't even look at him, just kept walking out the door and over to the livery stable.

He took the road west until he was out of town, and then he found a tree that promised to provide good shade throughout the day. He settled in to wait.

When the sun lay heavy and red in the western sky, Vin got up. "I guess he ain't comin'," he said to the empty landscape. Then he mounted his horse and spurred the animal toward home.

* * *

><p>When twilight had fallen over Albuquerque, two men walked into the saloon. Chris Larabee, slumped over a table in the corner in front of yet another bottle miraculously unbroken, didn't move until they grabbed his shoulders. Then he exploded, swinging wildly. One of the men stumbled back, his jaw dislocated.<p>

Larabee managed to get off a couple of shots, but they went wild, and a moment later a pistol butt connected with the back of his head. When he woke up, he was tied to a chair with armed guards on either side of him. One of them was smacking a cold, wet rag across his face.

Daniel Searles leaned against his desk and watched with evident enjoyment. When Larabee looked up at him, pain scrawled across his face, Searles stepped forward and backhanded him. His ring tore a long scratch down his prisoner's cheek.

Larabee's head drooped, and he groaned. Searles laughed. "So this is the great Chris Larabee, the legendary gunslinger who makes outlaws tremble in their boots! And he's nothing but a drunk."

Chris growled and threw himself against his bonds, struggling uselessly and then falling back exhausted.

Searles leaned in and said, "You're pathetic, Larabee. I've had eyes on you since you rode into this town. I've known every step you were going to take before you took it. And you actually thought you could win against me." He hit his prisoner again, the other cheek this time. "You know, Larabee, I was going to kill you, but now that I see you for myself, I think I'd rather you continue to exist in your squalor and humiliation." An expression of condescending disgust covered his face, and he wrinkled his nose as though the man before him stand. "Also," he continued, "Mr. Carboni thinks that if I mount your head on the city wall, it might inspire your former associates to come back and make trouble. I don't really think that will be a problem, but I'm always happy to do a favor for a friend. Now, I'm going to go and pick up a certain valuable document. Then I'm getting on the train and going east, all the way to New York City, where the document will be deposited in a bank far beyond your reach." Looking at the guards, he instructed, "Before my train whistle blows, use the time to remind Mr. Larabee why he should never, ever come back to Albuquerque. Once I'm gone, you can let him go."

Searles started for the door, then stopped and looked back."Remember me, Larabee. Remember me and curse me with your last, dying, drunken breath." As he shut the door behind him, he heard the solid thunk of a fist connecting with flesh.

An hour later, the whistle of the eastbound midnight express blew across the town. The two guards threw Larabee's battered body into the street and tossed his guns, empty of ammunition, after him.

Slowly, Larabee picked himself up and shuffled down the street—defeated, broken, and alone.

* * *

><p>The little bartender with the rabbity face pushed aside the false panel in his bar and crawled out. He nearly cried when he saw the wreck his place was in—his entire stock of liquor smashed. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that, after he made his last report on everything he'd overheard, Mr. Carboni might replace it all. And those seven men weren't ever coming back—they weren't even riding together anymore.<p>

He needed to go see Mr. Carboni right away, but his hands were still a little shaky. When the long haired one had slammed his rifle against the bar just over the secret hiding place, the bartender had been so scared he'd soiled himself. He needed a drink to settle his nerves.

One half full, unbroken bottle remained, sitting on a table in the corner. He picked it up and swigged, then gagged and spat out the liquid. In disbelief, he lifted the bottle to his nose and sniffed, then made a face and threw it on the floor. What idiot had put cold tea into one of his liquor bottles? The vile stuff looked just like whiskey, and a man could accidentally choke himself that way.

Giving up on the possibility of immediate liquid comfort, he hurried out the door. Hopefully, Mr. Carboni would offer him a real drink. Maybe even something imported.

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** Thank you so much for reading! And thank you, thank you to the two lovely readers who reviewed the last chapter! In your honor, I have composed the following poem:

Ni-a-ga-ra-wea-sel and Marmie,

They wrote kind reviews that did charm me.

So I'll wish them the best,

And a good night of rest

Full of dreams of Chris Larabee's army!

(Ok, so the M7 aren't exactly an army, but it's not so easy to rhyme with Marmie!)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** Now presenting the fourth and final chapter of my first ever TM7 fic! Hurrah!

**Disclaimer** What's that, officer? You think I have seven men tied up in my basement? Whatever gave you that idea?

**Larabee's 7**

Chapter 4

"You actually thought you could double cross me?" Tony Carboni's voice was cold.

"I didn't! I never!" Daniel Searles sputtered, half indignant and half afraid.

"Goliath, help him to remember," ordered Carboni.

The enormous man picked up Searles and shook him like a rag doll, until the lawyer whimpered for mercy.

"Nobody steals from me," Carboni said.

"Please," gasped Searles. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"No? Then how do you explain this?" Carboni held up a black leather portfolio.

"That's the deed to the _Clarion_. You were holding it for me."

"Really? Because that's not what I find in here. What I find is the deed to my own casino." Carboni opened the case and held it in front of Searles's face.

The lawyer's jaw dropped in shock. "That's impossible."

"Apparently not." Carboni slammed the case shut. Goliath dropped Searles to his knees.

"Larabee," gasped the lawyer. "He's setting me up!"

"Is that so? But how could that possibly happen? By your own admission, you left him in your office a prisoner and a broken man. Even if I did not believe you, I myself have had him watched since he set foot in this town."

"His friends helped!" Searles pleaded.

"The friends who deserted him? The friends we watched ride away without looking back?"

"I can't explain, but they did it! You must believe me!"

Carboni gently shook his head and drew his gun. "But how could they have done what is so clearly impossible?"

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that day<em>

"What do you mean one of the waiters hasn't shown up?" bellowed the staff manager of Casa Carboni.

The bartender shrugged. "All I know is, he's not here, the others are barely keeping up with the dining room, and somebody needs to take Mr. Carboni his pre-dinner drink."

The manager swore. "I suppose I'll have to take it myself." He spun around and nearly ran into a humble looking black man.

"Excuse me, sah, but I'm lookin' foh a job."

The manager snapped, "You got any experience waiting tables?"

"Oh, yes, sah, I worked the dinin' room of the Ritz in St. Louis, and I—"

"You're hired," interrupted the manager. "Thomas, get this darkie into a uniform and send him to Mr. Carboni with three stiff whiskies."

Thomas hurried the stranger away to a storeroom and thrust a uniform at him. "Put this on. You need to serve drinks in Mr. Carboni's office. Mr. Carboni is in there with his son Mr. Carlo and his right hand man Mr. Marco. You go in, you put down the drinks, you leave. Understand, darkie?"

"Yes, sah!" _I understand that if you call me 'darkie' again, I'll put a knife between your ribs_.

Thomas hurried away, and Nathan changed into the uniform. After collecting the drinks and getting directions, he headed for Carboni's office. He paused a moment before starting down the final hallway, to steady his nerves. This was the moment of truth. Except for Chris, Vin, and Buck, they'd been careful to keep away from Casa Carboni and anyone who might be here tonight. But if Carboni had ever kept watch on them himself, or sent one of his sons, the charade was about to be over.

The giant guard stood outside the office door. "You new?" he asked suspiciously.

Nathan nodded. "Yes, sah, they jist hired me, sah."

The guard looked him over, then nodded and opened the door. Nathan kept his head humbly bowed, looking at the men only out of the corners of his eyes. He served Carboni first, and then the man who sat next to him. He heard Carboni sip his whiskey and sigh in satisfaction.

"Life is good," Carboni said, as Nathan handed a glass to the third man. "Here I sit with my sons, an empire at my feet, my enemies fleeing before me. Life is good," he repeated.

Nathan was nearly to the door when Carbon called, "Waiter."

Nathan froze, then turned slowly, keeping his eyes down. "Yes, sah?"

"Be sure you come back for these glasses before Mr. Carlo locks up. The man yesterday forgot."

"Yes, sah, I won't fohget," Nathan promised, and escaped.

* * *

><p>Ezra finished tying up his horse and straightened his coat sleeves before striding through the front door of Casa Carboni. He appreciatively eyed the expensive décor, the open casino floor, and the elegantly uniformed staff. This was the kind of place he pictured himself operating one day. Too bad he wasn't actually here to make a killing at the tables.<p>

Ezra sauntered through the room, pretending to assess the various games of chance. He kept a discreet eye on the wait staff, and very casually wandered into the path of an elegantly coated black man carrying a tray of drinks.

"Champagne, sah? On the house."

Ezra smiled and accepted the glass. "Uniform suits you," he murmured.

"Shut up," Nathan muttered back. "Carlo Carboni has an office key in his right jacket pocket. He is currently at the roulette table."

Ezra found the man with his eyes, nodded, and moved on. He spent a few moments apparently in serious contemplation of the blackjack table before drifting over to roulette. Reaching to set his now empty glass on the table, his arm bumped into Carlo, who immediately turned and glared.

"So sorry," Ezra apologized. "I'm always shaky before a big game. Guess I need a drink to settle my nerves."

He walked back across the room, made a sharp turn to avoid the wrong purveyor of free champagne, and droped the office key onto Nathan's tray as he picked up a fresh glass. "Thank you, my man." Nathan glared, and Ezra repressed a chuckle as he went to shoot a little craps.

* * *

><p>Buck sat at the bar in Casa Carboni, trying to catch the eye of a pretty waitress.<p>

"Gee, Buck, you sure look funny without your mustache," J.D. whispered.

"Shut up, kid. We don't know each other, remember?" Buck reflexively rubbed his upper lip and sighed. Such a beautiful mustache had been too recognizable, but it had been a real sacrifice to shave it off. At least it didn't seem to be affecting his style with the ladies. When he winked at the pretty bartender and held up his glass, she blushed as she refilled it.

J.D. bumped Buck with his elbow so that the contents of the glass sloshed over the side.

"Watch it, kid," Buck snapped.

"What, are you made out of fine china?" J.D. asked impudently before smiling at the waitress. "Say, honey, would you fill this up for me?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Buck saw Nathan in his waiter's jacket slowly raise an arm in front of his face as though stretching. _That's the signal._

Buck grabbed J.D.'s arm. "Don't you go gettin' fresh with this lady, greenhorn. She's more woman than a kid like you can handle."

J.D. shook off the hand and jumped to his feet. "I ain't no greenhorn, and I ain't no kid either, grandpa."

"Grandpa!" Buck bellowed. "I reckon you and me better go where I can teach you some manners."

"Suits me fine, Gramps."

"Gentlemen!" The alarmed waitress tried to intervene, but the two angry men were already striding out of the room. They turned a corner into a hallway, empty except for one enormous man standing in front of a door.

"How about here?" Buck asked.

J.D. smirked. "Suits me fine, Gram—OW!" he yelped as Buck socked his shoulder, the one that had been shot. Without wasting more breath, the kid tackled the taller man and brought them both crashing to the floor.

* * *

><p>Nathan watched Goliath lumber away to break up J.D. and Buck's brawl. <em>Now<em>, he thought, and ran down the hallway, slipped the key into the lock, and was safely inside Carboni's dark office just as Goliath's massive fist closed on J.D.'s collar. Nathan struck a match and lit the candle he'd stashed in his pocket, then carried the small light over to the safe. _I sure hope we're right about this_. Wiping his sweaty fingers on his pants, he gently turned the dial of the combination lock.

_The number of enemies Carboni has killed? Seventeen notches on his gun_. He let the dial rest on number seventeen and felt a promising click. _The number of sons he's fathered? Two, Carlo and Luigi. The number of dead friends? Eight bouquets of flowers in the cemetery._ Nathan took a deep breath and pulled the safe door handle. Nothing happened.

_We were wrong. He's not actually arrogant enough to tell his enemies his combination._ "No, that's exactly the kind of man he is," Nathan said out loud. Maybe the numbers needed to go in a different order. He tried permutations of the three, but with no luck. _One of the numbers has to be wrong. Maybe Juanita lied to Buck. Or maybe not all of Carboni's friends are buried in Albuquerque. _He was running out of time. _Don't panic, Nathan. Think. Juanita told Buck Carboni had seventeen notches carved on his gun. She had no reason to lie—she's proud of it. And it's not the kind of thing it's easy to miscount. All right then, two sons, that's easy enough. We asked around—no dead children, and all of Carboni's kids are here. He keeps them close._

Nathan remembered Carboni in this very office saying, "Here I sit with my sons." _Sons? Only Carlo was here. Unless …_ Buck had said Marco had escorted Juanita at the cemetery. And it was Marco who had brought the message from Carboni to get out of town. Juanita had said that Carboni did important things himself, or sent his sons who were an extension of himself. Nathan had assumed that Carboni hadn't considered kicking Larabee's friends out of town to be important enough for the personal touch, but maybe not.

Maybe Marco was more than Carboni's right hand man. Maybe he was his illegitimate son.

Nathan twisted the dial again. _Seventeen enemies, three sons, eight friends._ With a businesslike click, the door swung open.

The _Clarion _deed was easy to find, protected in its black leather case, just like Mary had described. Nathan removed and folded the deed, tucking it safely inside his shirt. _Now for a replacement._ He rummaged through the neat stacks, trying to leave things just slightly out of order so that Carboni would know someone else had been there.

And then he found it—the deed to the casino itself. The document was even visually similar to the _Clarion _one, so that it might fool a quick glance in dim light. Nathan put the deed in the _Clarion's_ case, shut the safe, and went to the door to wait for the signal.

* * *

><p>"For the wages of sin is death!" Josiah stood in the street in front of Casa Carboni. His impromptu sermon was receiving a lot of attention from the passerby. "I entreat you brethren, if you value your immortal souls, do not enter that portal of iniquity!" He pointed dramatically at the door of the casino. "Do not be lured by the glitter of the world, for it is but the glitter of the fires of damnation!"<p>

One young man who had been about to enter, suddenly looked frightened and turned away. _That's right. Run, kid_, Josiah silently approved. In general he had nothing against a hand of cards, but there were some places that sucked men dry and left them for the vultures, and he suspected this was one of them.

Two men—not gamblers, judging by their sober business suits and sour faces—came out of the casino and approached Josiah.

"Excuse us, reverend," one said with mock courtesy, "but you're going to have to deliver the good word somewhere else. You're bad for business."

Josiah looked upward with an exalted expression. "He pours blessing upon my head. If my words have turned even one sheep away from the wolf's den, then I will not be moved."

"Look, reverend, you can leave or you can discuss it with Mr. Carboni himself. But believe me, you don't wanna do that."

"Carboni? Is that the name of the chief devil of this hell? I would welcome the chance to describe the judgment that awaits his iniquity. Brimstone," Josiah said with relish, "and eternal flames."

Carboni's men looked at each other and shrugged. "It's your funeral," one said. "Come along, reverend."

Josiah followed meekly as they led him into the casino and down to the basement. They locked him in a small room with no light and no furniture. The big man sat peacefully in the middle of the floor and recited the first three chapters of Genesis. Then he got up and kicked the door down.

The basement seemed deserted, so Josiah went upstairs. Moving cautiously, he managed to avoid hostile notice until he found the quiet hallway with the giant in it. "Goliath!" he bellowed. "David slew that evil giant in the strength of righteousness. Even so shall I defeat you, minion of Satan!" With a bull-like bellow, he charged.

Goliath met him head on, and it was like the collision of war elephants. Neither of them saw the waiter who slipped out the office door and ran down the hallway, dropping a key on the floor as he went.

* * *

><p>Vin watched the window of Searles's office through his spyglass, the other hand on his rifle. The two guards had apparently gotten tired of slapping around Chris's limp form, because they were untying him, hauling him to his feet, and herding him toward the door.<p>

Vin climbed down from the roof of the building across the street and followed as Chris staggered away from Searles's office. When the tracker was certain the guards were really gone, he fell into step beside his friend.

Chris glanced over at him. "Thanks for waiting."

"Well, somebody had to shoot those two if they stopped playin' nice." He examined Chris critically. "They worked your face over pretty good."

Chris gingerly probed one swollen eye. "Did they improve it any?"

"No comment," said Vin. "Anything broken?"

Chris gingerly flexed his arms and patted himself along the ribs. "I don't think so. They wanted to be sure I could leave town."

They didn't speak again until they had retrieved their horses and ridden hard out of town, only slowing after an hour to save their mounts.

"You know what the hardest part was?" Chris asked.

Vin looked at him inquiringly.

"Not bustin' out laughin' when Josiah told me he hoped I would find my way back to the light."

Vin snickered. "How about when Ezra went storming out with his face all pinched up?"

"Or J.D. lookin' like I'd shot his favorite dog?"

"And you swillin' all that tea like you was ten drunks!"

"I thought I was gonna drown!" Chris gasped, howling with laughter. "Sittin' in a saloon, havin' a damn tea party!" He abruptly stopped laughing and groaned, clutching his side. "Maybe I do have a cracked rib or two."

"Nathan will patch you up," Vin said.

"He just got done patchin' me up after Ella's little surprise. Maybe it's time to give him a rest."

"He don't mind. He's always pluggin' up a hole in one or the other of us."

"Yeah, I guess this job ain't too good for your health. Maybe it's time you all got a rest."

"Maybe," Vin drawled thoughtfully. "On the other hand, ain't like what we was doin' before was pickin' daisies. Likelier than not, some of us mighta been pushin' daisies by now if we'd been ridin' alone. It's useful havin' someone watch your back."

They rode in silence for a stretch, and then Chris said flatly, "Trackin' Ella's no one's business but mine. No reason to for you all to leave town. There ain't even five dollars for doin' this job."

Vin's tone remained easy as he said, "Not to step on your toes, Chris, but we took it kinda personal when she tried to kill us. Besides, how long do you think Ezra will dirty his hands with actual work unless you're there to scare him into it? Buck'll chase some skirt right outta town, and J.D.'ll probably volunteer for sheriff again and get hisself killed before Christmas."

Chris asked, "You tellin' me I'm stuck trailin' six men behind me like a string of ducklings?"

"Quack quack," said Vin.

* * *

><p>It was almost dawn when Chris and Vin reached the little town where they'd first waited while Ezra went on his initial reconnaissance mission. The others were camped under a large tree on the outskirts.<p>

Chris swung down from his horse and nodded at J.D. "How's your shoulder, kid?"

"It was fine until Buck punched it and made it bleed again."

"I had to make it look real, didn't I?" Buck protested.

"You didn't have to kill me!"

Chris turned away from their bickering to ask Nathan, "Did you get it?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" Nathan handed over the deed. "We didn't quite have the right combination, but a little clever thinking on my part saved the day."

Josiah chuckled. "You wouldn't have saved the day if I hadn't slain the giant."

Nathan pointed at Josiah's black eye. "Looks like the giant slew you."

"He was a worthy opponent," Josiah conceded. "But he trusted too much in his own strength and doubted my right hook." He held up one of his massive fists to demonstrate.

Ezra lifted his flask. "Gentlemen, we all played our parts to a perfection that would have made Shakespeare himself weep. I think we can toast a complete success. Mr. Larabee, may I offer you a potation somewhat stronger than those you have been imbibing as of late?"

Chris took the flask and nodded his thanks to the gambler. "It was a good plan, Ezra. Smart."

Ezra leaned back against the tree and looked smug. "My mama did raise me to be a smart boy. And charmin' and good lookin' and …"

Vin rolled his eyes. "Ezra, shut your mouth while you're ahead."

Chris looked at the sky lightening in the east. "We've still got to get this deed home to Mary. Boys, let's ride.

* * *

><p>Mary heard the riders from her desk inside the <em>Clarion<em> office. She'd known they were coming, ever since she'd received the telegram informing her the challenge to her ownership had been dropped.

Boots on the boardwalk. A tall man in the doorway.

Mary told her heart to stop beating so hard. "Hello, Chris," she said quietly, then caught her breath in horror as he removed his hat and she saw the bruises around his eyes and cheeks. "Your face! What happened?"

"Nothin' much. Looks worse than it is."

Mary bit back another question, determined to pry the whole story out of Buck later.

Chris removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out. "This belongs to you. Sorry it's kinda wrinkled."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Mary took the deed, wishing she had the right to repay him with more than words and a few dollars. "Actually, I have something for you too." She handed him a stack of paper.

"What's this?" Chris asked.

"Everything I've been able to find on Ella Gaines and her mining company. Investments, associates, locations."

Chris thumbed through the stack in amazement. "You found all this in two weeks?"

She looked up at him through her lashes. "I don't like to brag, Mr. Larabee, but I'm very good at my job."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

_Making you stop hurting_. Out loud, she said, "I also telegraphed Ella's description to my newspaper contacts. I got this letter yesterday. It describes a woman who passed through Gold Valley three weeks ago."

She watched his face as he read, failing as always to pin down the emotions flickering behind his quiet eyes. "Do you think it's her?"

"Don't know."

"Well, if it's not, I'll probably have leads from other towns by the time you get back."

_You __will__ come back, Chris Larabee_, Mary thought fiercely, pinning his gaze with her own, as if by sheer force of will she could make him stay.

Unexpectedly, a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. "All right."

"You're staying?" she asked, afraid of the hope that suddenly filled her. "I mean, you'll come back?"

Chris put his hat back on his head. "The judge hired us to protect this town. I reckon it wouldn't be right to leave before the job's over. Thank you for this, Mary." He lifted the letter to show what he meant, and then he tipped his hat and was gone.

Her knees suddenly shaky, Mary let herself lean against the edge of her desk. He would come back. As long as they needed him, he would keep coming back. And now, for once, he needed her too, if only to help him track down Ella.

For now … that was enough.

_The End_

**A/N** Thank you all so much for reading, and a special thank you to those who took the time to review. Your notes really cheered and encouraged me. Thanks for welcoming to this delightful community! I hope it won't be too long before I'm able to publish another story.


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